"DEALING THE ODD"
Faro-bank is an expensive game when luck turns a cold shoulder on any
player, and "going broke" is as easy as ruffling a deck. When a man
finds he has two dollars left out of more than two months' pay and that
it has taken him less than thirty minutes to get down to that mark, he
cannot be censored much if he rails at that Will-o'-the-wisp, the
Goddess of Luck. Put him a good ten days' ride from home, acquaintances
and money and perhaps he will be justified in adding heat in plenty to
his denunciation. He had played to win when he should have coppered,
coppered when he should have played to win, he had backed both ends
against the middle and played the high card as well--but only when his
bets were small did the turn show him what he wanted to see. Perhaps
the case-keeper had hoodooed him, for he never did have any luck at
cards when a tow-headed man had a finger in the game.
Fuming impotently at his helplessness, a man limped across the main
street in Colby, constrained and a little awkward in his new store
clothes and new, squeaking boots that were clumsy with stiffness. The
only things on him that he could regard as old and tried friends were
the battered sombrero and the heavy, walnut-handled Colt's .45 which
rubbed comfortably with each movement of his thigh. The weapon, to be
sure, had a ready cash value--but he could not afford to part with it.
The horse belonged to his ranch, and the saddle must not be sold; to
part with it would be to lose his mark of caste and become a walking
man, which all good punchers despised.
"Ten days from home, knowin' nobody, two measly dollars in my pocket,
an' luck dead agin me," he growled with pugnacious pessimism. "Oh, I 'm
a wise old bird, I am! A h--l of a wise bird. Real smart an' cute an'
shiny, a cache of wisdom, a real, bonyfied Smart Aleck with a head full
of spavined brains. I copper th' deuce an' th' deuce wins; I play th'
King to win for ten dollars when I ought to copper it. I lay two-bits
and it comes right--ten dollars an' I see my guess go _loco_. Reckon I
better slip these here twin bucks down in my kill-me-soon boots afore
some blind papoose takes 'em away from me. Wiser 'n Solomon, I am; I
've got old Caesar climbin' a cactus for pleasure an' joy. S-u-c-k-e-r
is my middle name--an' I 'm busted."
He almost stumbled over a little tray of a three-legged table on the
corner of the street and his face went hard as he saw the layout. Three
halves of English walnut shells lay on the faded and soiled green cloth
and a blackened, shriveled pea was still rolling from the shaking he had
given the table. He stopped and regarded it gravely, jingling his two
dollars disconsolately. "Don't this town do nothin' else besides
gamble?" he muttered, looking around.
"Howd'y, stranger!" cheerfully cried a man who hastened up. "Want to
see me fool you?"
The puncher's anger was aroused to a thin, licking flame; but it passed
swiftly and a cold, calculating look came into his eyes. He glanced
around swiftly, trying to locate the cappers, but they were not to be
seen, which worried him a little. He always liked to have possible
danger where he could keep an eye on it. Perhaps they were eating or
drinking--the thought stirred him again to anger: two dollars would not
feed him very long, nor quench his thirst.
"Pick it out, stranger," invited the proprietor, idly shifting the
shells. "It's easy if yo 're right smart--but lots of folks just can't
do it; they can't seem to get th' hang of it, somehow. That's why it's a
bettin' proposition. Here it is, right before yore eyes! One little
pea, three little shells, right here plumb in front of yore eyes! Th'
little pea hides under one of th' little shells, right in plain sight:
But can you tell which one? That's th' whole game, right there. See how
it's done?" and the three little shells moved swiftly but clumsily and
the little pea disappeared. "Now, then; where would _you_ say it was?"
demanded the hopeful operator, genially.
The puncher gripped his two dollars firmly, shifted his weight as much
as possible on his sound leg, and scowled: he knew where it was. "Do I
look like a kid? Do you reckon you have to coax like a fool to get me
all primed up to show how re-markably smart an' quick I am? You don't;
I know how smart I am. Say, you ain't, not by any kinda miracle, a blind
papoose, are you?" he demanded.
"What you mean?" asked the other, smiling as he waited for the joke. It
did not come, so he continued. "Don't take no harm in my fool
wind-jammin', stranger. It's in th' game. It's a habit; I 've said it
so much I just can't help it no more--I up an' says it at a funeral
once; that is, part of it--th' first part. That's dead right! But I
reckon I 'm wastin' my time--unless you happen to feel coltish an'
hain't got nothin' to do for an age. I 've been playin' in hard luck
th' last week or so--you see, I ain't as good as I uster be. I ain't
quite so quick, an' a little bit off my quickness is a whole lot off my
chances. But th' game's square--an' that's a good deal more'n you can
say about most of 'em."
The puncher hesitated, a grin flickering about his thin lips and a calm
joy warming him comfortably. He knew the operator. He knew that face,
the peculiar, crescent-shaped scar over one brow, and the big, blue eyes
that years of life had not entirely robbed of their baby-like innocence.
The past, sorted thoroughly and quickly by his memory, shoved out that
face before a crowd of others. Five years is not a long time to
remember something unpleasant; he had reasons to remember that
countenance. Knowing the face he also knew that the man had been, at
one time, far from "square." The associations and means of livelihood
during the past five years, judging from the man's present occupation,
had not been the kind to correct any evil tendency. He laid a
forefinger on the edge of the tray. "Start th' machinery--I 'll risk a
couple of dollars, anyhow. That ain't much to lose. I bet two dollars
I can call it right," he said, watching closely.
He won, as he knew he would; and the result told him that the gambler
had not reformed. The dexterous fingers shifting the shells were slower
than others he had seen operate and when he had won again he stopped, as
if to leave. "When I hit town a short time ago I didn't know I 'd be so
lucky. I went an' drawed two months' pay when I left th' ranch: I shore
don't need it. Shuffle 'em again--it's yore money, anyhow," he laughed.
"You should 'a' quit th' game before you got so slow."
"Goin' back to work purty soon?" queried the shell-man, wondering how
much this "sucker" had left unspent.
"Not me! I 've only just had a couple of drinks since I hit town--an'
_I_ 'm due to celebrate."
The other's face gave no hint of his thoughts, which were that the fool
before him had about a hundred dollars on his person. "Well, luck's
with you today--you 've called it right twice. I 'll bet you a cool
hundred that you can't call it th' third time. It's th' quickness of my
hands agin yore eyes--an' you can't beat me three straight. Make it a
hundred? I hate to play all day."
"I 'll lay you my winnings an' have some more of yore money," replied
the puncher, feverishly. "Ain't scared, are you?"
"Don't know what it means to be scared," laughed the other. "But I
ain't got no small change, nothin' but tens. Play a hundred an' let's
have some real excitement."
"Nope; eight or nothin'."